Secrets
by jo taylor
Summary: Ever wondered why Marcus avoided the Rebirth Ceremony? This story gives a look at why it held too many memories


Disclaimer: JMS owns everything except my story line

Authors note: This started out as a 100 word challenge. Those words end this story.

SECRETS

By Jo Taylor

The room echoed with the sounds of battle. Weapons swished through the air as bodies attacked and retreated. Booted feet thudded against the hard wood flooring. Metal met flesh, a grunt of surprise the only acknowledgement as the silent battle continued.

And suddenly it was all over.

Marcus felt his legs being swept out from under him, falling back with enough force to knock the breath from him in a gasp of pain and exasperation, his weapon spinning from his hand. Propping himself up on one arm, he found the point of his opponent's pike bare inches away from his face, poised for a killing strike.

"Surrender."

"Buggered if I will!" he retorted only to see the pike drawn back, the arm holding it tighten ready to plunge the weapon into his unprotected face.

"Surrender!"

He thought about his choices, realised he had none and collapsed back against the uncompromising floor, cursing under his breath. A moment passed in silence until he raised his eyes to catch those of his assailant then he burst into laughter, the fit so infectious that soon both combatants were left out of breath, tears streaming down their faces.

A slim hand was held out to him and he accepted it as he rose from his rather ungraceful sprawl, brushing down the black trousers turned grey from their contact with the dusty floor. "One of these days, Shera, I will beat you, then see how you like getting splinters in your bum!"

"Only if I let you win, Marcus," she replied grinning, as she dodged his half-hearted attempt to grab her arm.

Standing only five foot two and three quarter inches, though she claimed five foot three, Shera appeared deceptively waif-like. A preconception she was happy to shatter on any occasion, with any of the trainees who believed themselves better with the denn'bok - or any other weapon.

Well ahead of him in her training, this month would see her pass out of his life as she set forth on the journey designated to her. In less than three weeks there would be a Rebirth ceremony, those rangers who were deemed by the masters to be ready would assume their duties and receive the coveted brooch. Shera was one of those favoured to join the Anla'shok. He would miss her. For the last six months, whilst Durhann took on the new recruits, Shera had taken up the role of tutor to selected acolytes. Her expertise with pike and blade unquestioned by the Masters and her role as teacher approved by Sinclair. For the last three weeks it had been his turn to suffer humiliation after humiliation as this tiny woman repeatedly bested him in combat. Just once he wanted to dump her on the floor and make her face defeat.

For all that, they had become fast friends, finding in one another a similarity of background and purpose; family lost, revenge required, but underlying that a sense of the ridiculous that lit them both from within.

Marcus retrieved his weapon as they prepared to leave; a movement in the shadows by the rear wall caught their attention. Weapons hissed open as they took up a defensive stance. The hall had been theirs alone, he had watched as Shera opened the room with a key kept on her person and he would have sworn that no-one could have entered without one of them being aware. The dark figure took shape, revealing the hooded form of Ranger One as he moved toward them. Marcus gulped a little and sheepishly closed his pike with a snap, Shera following suit.

The more he saw of this quiet man, the greater his respect became. Though he knew that Sinclair was a mortal, a human and no more unearthly than he, still the name 'Entil'Zha' sprung to his lips whenever they met, along with an almost overwhelming feeling that he should make some kind of abeyance, though he knew Sinclair was uncomfortable with such displays. They had spoken on occasion, not often, but enough that Marcus was sure the man had spent too much time with the Minbari religious leaders. He could confound you with nonsense as easily as any of the Sech! Surely a trait he had learned since arriving on Minbar?

Sinclair let down the hood that had shaded his face from their view. For a moment Marcus thought he glimpsed the merest hint of a terrible sadness flit across the stern face. In an instant the impression was gone as his leader's grey eyes twinkled with appreciation.

"Well done, Marcus I do believe you almost had Shera worried then."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "If you think being flat on your back with the business end of a denn'bok up your nose gives her something to worry about, you must be a few brain cells down!"

The room went deathly quiet for a moment before Sinclair's laugh barked into the uneasy silence. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"Don't worry about it, I have had worse allegations thrown my way, but I believe you are going to be late for Sech G'Nath's meditation class?"

Accepting his dismissal with good grace, he bowed slightly to Shera signifying the end of their session before hurrying toward the door. Closing it behind him, he left the barest gap between door and jamb, one ear pressed to the opening. Eavesdropping on his friend and the Anla'shok Na, was probably not a very honourable thing to do, but how else was a ranger in training to gather information? Was that not one of the prime tasks for the chosen of Valen? Justifying his lapse he listened intently, catching only the odd word here and there. Sinclair seemed to be quizzing Shera on her home planet, but the reply was lost as her voice dropped to a confidential whisper.

A bell tolled sonorously in the distance, calling the students to their studies. 

"Shit!" He had still to return his pike to the weapon store before joining his meditation class. It crossed his mind for the briefest moment to run straight to the class but of the two Sech's he would rather face G'Nath's wrath than Deben's. The weapons master was just as likely to take the lapse out of his hide. Last time he had been tardy in returning his pike he had spent an hour being used as a punching bag for the students as Deben instructed them on the finer points of inflicting debilitating blows with hand or foot. Bruises had decorated his body for over a week. The lesson had been humiliating but it had taught him not to try any Sech's patience again.

He was in luck; the weapon hall was empty. Quickly he placed the weapon in its slot then hared off toward his next class.

Minbari and Human sat in serried rows facing the ancient Minbari seated at the far end of the hall. Not the whisper of a breath, the rustle of clothing disturbed the utter silence within the room. Hard black eyes locked onto his and he wondered if he had made the right choice after all. The barest gesture from the master brought Marcus to the front of the class where he was signalled to sit. G'Nath's eyes closed and he sighed in relief at the escape he seemed to have achieved. Closing his own eyes he tried his best to sink into the deep meditative state that Minbari seemed to believe so essential to a Ranger. 

Thoughts chased around his mind like squirrels trapped in a cage. What had happened between Shera and Sinclair? Would tomorrow bring a new challenge? Some of the trainees had been allowed out on fact-finding missions over the last few months, some not much further on in their training than he was. Energy pulsed through him seeking an escape; his brain still wired from the fight with Shera. He found inactivity almost unbearable for it gave him time to think, time to remember; and he did not want to remember.

Cramp twinged the muscle of his right thigh sending an uncomfortable spasm up into his groin. He moved slightly, trying to relieve the pressure and wondered again how this was supposed to leave you refreshed and full of 'delight'! Another twinge and his eyes flew open, what little concentration he had found lost now in the need to move. G'Nath's disapproving eye was firmly fixed on him. He grimaced an apology and stretched out the offending leg, massaging the muscles until the blood began to flow again. 

For the next twenty minutes he sat perfectly still, though his mind still wandered along paths of its own as he amused himself with various ways to get even with Shera. This pastime at least meant he attracted no more attention from the master.

"Dismissed."

Marcus made to leave but a sharp 'Mr Cole' rooted him to the spot. He returned to stand in front of the still seated Sech.

"Sit, Mr Cole." The old man bent his penetrating gaze on Marcus' defiant features. "I have never approved of Humans becoming Anla'shok. You lack discipline, inner harmony. You believe that might of arms can conquer all, but it can not. To understand your enemy you must understand his soul, and to understand his soul you must understand your own. And you do not."

"May I speak freely?"

G'Nath nodded.

"My enemies are the Shadows and their minions. The race that destroyed my planet, that took my home and my family from me and from others just like me. They don't have a soul!" 

"You are afraid to look too closely at you own heart, for fear that you may see another's."

"What?" He hated it when the Minbari trotted out these words of wisdom that made no sense to him. It left him frustrated and uncomfortably aware that maybe he was missing something vitally important through his own lack of intuition.

"Before you can face your enemies, Mr Cole, you must face yourself. Meditation will bring you to understanding." The disapproving gaze relaxed for a moment as the old man's hand rested lightly on Marcus' shoulder, "If you will let it."

Walking slowly across to the eating hall the master's words echoed in him. Did he understand himself? Did he want to probe his soul and unearth all that hidden pain? Would it make him any better as a Ranger?

Only a handful of Minbari still lingered over the evening meal. He viewed the scant choice with a critical eye. What he would give for a steak right now, even a synthesised one would be welcome after months of Minbari fare. Finally selecting the least unappetising dish he looked around for a seat. Tucked in the corner of the room, unnoticed on his arrival, sat Shera. Long black hair fell unfettered, hiding her face; and with the deep colour of her clothing she blended into the shadows. Every line of her tense body screamed deep concentration and something more, anxiety. Shera feared nothing. It was one of those immutable laws, like bread landing butter side down. He had never seen her flinch in any situation, and the Minbari had thought up a few ripe scenarios for their pupils.

"Will you look at this stuff!" Marcus put the tray down with a clatter that shattered her reverie. "Is it any wonder I look more like a medical photo than Hercules?"

Panicked eyes shot up to meet his; the usual calm green turned to sea storm in a face that seemed unnaturally pallid. Her lips tipped into a token smile and his heart sank. Sliding into the seat opposite her, he pulled his dish closer and studied the fine features now avoiding his gaze. 

Taking a slow bite he waited, hoping she would tell him what was wrong. But the silence grew longer and his brain was working nineteen to the dozen on speculation after speculation. 

"This is torture!" he exclaimed.

She looked up again. "What? The food?" Her mind had been far away.

"Well, that too. No, watching you wrestle with the mother of all problems. Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help?"

Sighing, she seemed to ponder her reply. A shrug of her shoulder and she opened her mouth to speak. 

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, the gravel-like voice of Sinclair startling them into awareness of his presence. "Good. I'm glad to see you found Marcus. When you have briefed him, join me in my office for final instructions." A nod to Marcus and he was gone.

"How does he do that? Does he realise how annoying that is…? And what does he mean, 'brief me'. Come on, spill it."

"Not here. Let's walk."

She was up and moving before he had time to put down his fork. Following her rapidly moving figure they headed for the meditation gardens. The place was deserted, students who were not attending special classes were busy going over the day's work, learning, remembering, trying to understand the complexities engendered by the Minbari language. 

As they walked the serpentine paths Shera told him something of their mission and the background behind it.

"Remember when we first met?" Though she asked the question, she waited for no reply. "I told you then that my colony had been destroyed, my family and friends killed. I survived by sheer luck maybe, or some deity had its eye on me. For whatever reason I am the only one left to exact revenge for their destruction. Sinclair has just given me an opportunity to possibly even the score a little."

"You don't seem too happy about it? What is it you have to do?"

By now they had reached the centre of the garden, a large perfectly symmetrical pool of clear water. He had tried to see into its depths on his first visit; he would not try again. The surface remained calm whatever the weather, a stillness that sent shivers up his spine. As he had gazed into the pool he had felt drawn in by it, as though he were falling in an endless flight toward his doom.

"Culden was not the planet I grew up on, though I considered it home. I was born and raised on Turnis. My mother escaped from there when I was fourteen. She took up with a miner heading for Culden's mining facility, I tagged along."

His eyes had widened at the name Turnis. Everyone in his sector had heard of the penal colony there, of the conditions to be found and the type of inmate condemned to its care. That Shera had been born there explained a lot about her that had been a mystery to him. She would have grown up fast in that atmosphere.

On his own colony he had met adversity in one form or another, but nothing like the conflicts that must have been a daily occurrence for an attractive female on Turnis.

He found her eyes resting on him speculatively.

"Is that where you learnt your skill with the knife?"

She nodded. "I killed my first man when I was twelve. He had been bothering my mother for as long as I could recall. I hated him, what he did to her. After he had taken her, beaten her nearly senseless, he fell asleep full of the alcoholic muck they drank there. While he was snoring, I slit his throat."

Her air was one of casual disregard but he had caught the anger in her voice. It rang in him too, that a child should have to perform such acts.

"Didn't they come after you?"

"We got out of there fast as we could. One of the miners was going on leave, he gave us a lift to the port; we lost ourselves in that rabbit warren of streets. Mother went back to her old profession, silver work, and we got by on the money she made and my knife when things turned bad occasionally."

He chose his words carefully, guessing what her answer would be. "And where are we going on this mission?"

"Turnis."

Durhann waited for him inside the weapons training hall. Marcus' heart beat a little faster as he saw the Minbari held two denn'bok. A one on one match with the acknowledged Master was a rare and sought after experience. That Shera may have had something to do with the honour about to be bestowed, he had little doubt. Durhann's approval was required before any ranger received his own denn'bok. All trainees currently returned their weapons after each session. To be custodian of one of these ancient weapons was something he dearly wanted.

Durhann tossed one pike to Marcus, extended his own, and leapt to the attack, aiming a blow to his unprotected face. His own weapon opened just in time as he raised it above his head warding off the blow. Pain shot down his arm and into his shoulder. Rage blossomed in him at the unprovoked attacked and he swung around aiming for his opponent's legs only to find his pike blocked, then almost wrenched from his hand by the force of the riposte. He stepped back quickly, reigning in his emotions as he took stock of his antagonist. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back as he whipped the pike back up in a defensive gesture, Durhann's own weapon slicing the air a hairs breath from his face. Anger got the better of him and he charged into the affray swinging his pike into the master's body. A sharp rap on his shoulder sobered him as his own pass went wide. For all his years Durhann was quick as lightning. 

They traded blow after blow and it seemed to Marcus that the older man was tiring, or he was improving. Whatever the cause, he was infused with a need to at least touch the Minbari with his pike before he was summarily defeated. Slowly he felt his training take over, each move and countermove came with greater ease; he instinctively knew what move Durhann was about to make. Though his performance was improving, still it took all his concentration to just stay standing in this fight. 

Sweat trickled into his eyes, momentarily blinding him and it was over. Resistance was withdrawn and he waited for a heartbeat, then two, for the strike to fall. Wiping the moisture from his face he looked over to the Minbari Sech who stood calmly in front of him, weapon retracted. Not a sign of laboured breath, not a bead of sweat to show that they had fought with a savage intensity.

He retracted his own pike and, following the master's lead, bowed to signify the sessions ending.

"Very good, Mr Cole. I see much improvement." 

Marcus could hear the 'but' hanging in the air between them.

"You have much anger within you, Mr Cole. It will prove your downfall if you continue to repress those feelings."

"Oh, I don't feel very repressed right now, believe me!"

Was it a trick of the light, or did Durhann's mouth actually twitch with humour? The closest he had seen the master come to a smile.

He laid the denn'bok on his outstretched palms and offered the weapon back to Durhann.

"No, Mr Cole, you are now custodian of the Denn'bok. You will use it with honour."

It felt as though a ton of bricks had been laid on his shoulders as the realisation of his acceptance hit home. To have achieved this level, at this stage of his training was almost unheard of; the responsibility was crushing. He bowed low and waited silently until the Sech had left the room. A whoosh of air sighed out of him as relief and excitement warred within. Turning the closed weapon over in his hands his new accountability became a reality. 

Shera was leading them both into one of the worst places the galaxy had to offer, on the trail of a 'maybe' that had come second hand to a ranger passing through the area. She had related the background to him the previous night. Rumour had it that inmates were vanishing from the colony. No great loss one would think, but these were very specific types that suddenly vanished. Every one, without fail, had a member of their family under the Psi Corps umbrella. Though not telepathic themselves, their relatives were. Murderers, rapists, psychos of all descriptions were disappearing never to be seen again - until recently that is. 

Two of the ex inmates had made a sudden re-appearance two weeks before. A small scout ship had spotted wreckage on a little used part of Turnis. The two men were dead, still strapped into their seats. Wires linked them to a computer the likes of which had not been seen before. All that the ranger could get by way of solid information related to the fact that these men had seemed to be hard-wired to the craft itself. Men, machine and all data pertaining to the crash had then vanished, their existence denied. 

Sinclair wanted to know what was going on.

The transport ship was crowded, dirty and smelt disgusting to Marcus' fastidious nose. Though he realised that he smelt little better himself after three days in its confines. Hygiene was not high on the list of attractions on board the Scarna. Shera had kept her own council through most of the trip, responding only when he had asked her a direct question, never volunteering an answer or starting a conversation. He worried about her, something he had vowed not to do ever again. Losing his brother had taken the heart out of him for a while replaced by an anger that even now simmered within him. He did not want to get close to anyone again, the pain was too great, and here he was, letting someone else's cares become his own.

"What is this place like? I have heard the rumours of course, but nothing could really be that bad surely."

She turned her stormy eyes and caught his, "Whatever you have heard is probably true, times a factor of ten most likely." She leant back against the dirty wall, and he scanned her closely as memories obviously surfaced.

"The penal colony only takes up a fraction of the planet as you can imagine. And, like most colonies, it has attracted the scum of the galaxy around it. It is more like a shantytown than a city; there is nothing that would attract a visitor. On the other side of the planet is a mining concern; that's where my mother worked, where I grew up. The accommodation was a little better there, not much. We shared a place with another family, it wasn't pleasant," she trailed off, her lips tight and thin. 

He thought back to his own youth; yes, he had grown up in a mining colony, but the conditions had been pretty good on the whole. Arisia 3 had had its seamy side however. When the men had wanted to relax, get drunk, amuse themselves in any way, a few enterprising souls had adapted part of the station into a recreation area that suited them down to the ground. It had been best not to enquire too deeply into what went on in those dark passages. Marcus had ventured there now and again. The first time had been sheer curiosity, and it had nearly got him killed. William had wanted to get away from the boring drudgery of endless paperwork, his task at the mine, and had twisted Marcus' arm to visit the bars and amusements of 'downtown'. 

They should have met around ten, but Marcus had been caught up in paperwork of his own as a supply shipment had arrived. Reaching William's room, the note tagged to the door caught his eye. William, restless and headstrong had gone ahead and would meet him at the 'Black Cat' bar. Cursing his brother, he had grabbed his jacket and set off in pursuit of his reckless sibling. The room had been barely lit and it had taken a while for him to spot William's dark head at the end of the bar. Half a dozen empty glasses already stood on the sticky surface, and the eyes that met his seemed to be a little out of focus.

"William, time to go." His hand had been ready to haul his inebriated sibling up from the stool when his own arm was grabbed from behind.

"Now you just leave the lad alone." The huge hairy hand that gripped his arm so tightly squeezed hard, temporarily cutting off the circulation.

"William!" he had hissed insistently.

"Wassamatterbrother?" His glass slammed down on the bar. "Another round of drinks for my good friends!" 

Marcus caught him as he slid off the stool. "I don't think so. Come on, up with you."

With William's arm draped around his shoulder they headed for the door, only to find their way blocked by a mountain of a man. Marcus did not recognise him; not from any shift that he had worked on at least. If he was one of the temporary workers they could be in deep trouble. With his concentration focused on the giant in front of him he did not hear the man who stole up from behind, was not aware of his presence until he felt the blow to his neck. Some instinct had made him move to the right just as the blow descended, it left him staggering but upright, anger flaring in him. Turning to face this new adversary he let William slip to the floor. Others in the bar, seeing what was happening and recognising the two surrounded men, leapt into the fray. Not so much to rescue the boss, though that would be the excuse used, but there had not been a decent fight for weeks. 

Ten minutes later the affray was over as security poured in through the door. William still lay on the floor; though he had been trampled on in the melee he was still too drunk to care. Marcus, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, had been propped up against the bar by one of his men. Feeling as though he had been pulverised, he later found out how lucky an escape they had had. Two broken ribs, a bruised spleen, numerous cuts and bruises left him in the infirmary for over a week. One rib had pierced a lung, deflating it and causing massive infection. He had been lucky. As soon as he was fit enough, Marcus had begged his chief security officer for instruction. The man had survived on the worst planets around, and could handle himself well in any fight situation. Not for him the stylised ritual of Karate or jujitsu, street fighting was his forte and Marcus took to it like a duck to water.

William, although sorry his brother had been injured, had merrily continued to visit the bars, looking for adventure he said. And then he had met up with a Ranger, 'the ultimate adventure' he had called it. Foolish dreaming Marcus had replied, but his brother had left on his quest just the same.

The memories had taken only a moment to replay yet his silence had been noted. Shera, seemingly aware of the thoughts that must be swirling in his mind, laid a hand on his arm.

Her ring caught his attention. She wore it almost constantly, against all the rules. Minbari did not approve of personal adornment for their rangers. So, when lessons came around the ring came off, the minute she stepped outside the class however, the slim filigree band was replaced. 

"Should you be wearing that. Don't want to attract some thief's eye, never know what sort of trouble that might lead to!"

Shera caught the laugh in his voice and grinned back. "I'll take my chances."

Turnis was all Shera had said - and more. The port bustled with transports coming and going. Mining shipments leaving as food supplies came in. The planet had no stable agricultural area; what parts were not being mined or held a throbbing community lay as barren wasteland, uninviting and unforgiving in its harshness. 

They hired a room at the one and only hotel close to the port. A single room that had Marcus' eyebrows shoot up in an amused question that earned him nothing but a sharp set down from Shera. Stowing their few possessions, the two headed for the habitat that surrounded the port and colony. Entering into the dark alleys Marcus noticed that the ring had vanished from Shera's hand. Maybe she had heeded his warning after all, or she followed some path of her own.

"I don't think we'll find much information here. This lot is too transitory. If we can get hold of some sort of flyer, I think the mine would serve us better. They have their own community, their own town if you like, but the population is pretty stable. And you can bet that whatever is going on, Dareth Caron knows all about it." 

"Will he talk to us do you think?"

She eyed him up and down. "We need some different clothes if we are to pull this off. Do you remember how to be the boss, Marcus?"

He grinned at her. "If only I'd known, I would have packed my best suit."

The smile she returned lightened her features, dispelling the troubled look from her eyes. "Once we get in there, you can talk mining to him whilst I try and get some news out of his staff. If they are anything like the guys that used to work there a few credits should gain us whatever we need. If not… well my computer skills are a little rusty but I think we can manage."

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and not for a moment did he think they could possibly fail.

The office was big, much larger than Marcus' back on Arisia. Seated behind the ostentatious desk was one of the ugliest men it had been his misfortune to meet. Heavy jowls leant a Neanderthal aspect to the swarthy man's visage, not helped by the prominent eyebrows and a slight hint of wetness around the mouth. For the last twenty minutes Marcus had bluffed his way through a supposed interview for a position within Caron Industries. His experience had been questioned minutely; the destruction of his facility gone into in more detail that he had been comfortable with and the outcome still seemed in doubt. Caron's eyes, though hidden deep in his face held more than a trace of disbelief as he listened to the waffle currently issuing from Marcus' mouth.

"Where will you be staying, Mr Cole?" his tone harsh and guttural.

"Well, I only arrived today, with my partner. We haven't had a chance to find anywhere as yet, can you recommend somewhere?"

Stubby fingers twirled a pen as the head of Caron Industries looked intently at Marcus' carefully neutral features.

His answer was curt, and unexpected. "You can stay on the site. We have quarters free at the moment, you and you partner can stay here. Believe me, you won't find anything to suit you in what passes for civilisation around here."

Summarily dismissed, Marcus hurried off to find Shera, his brain twisting around ways to let her know of their new-found 'relationship'. He would have been more worried if he had known the conversation currently taking place in the office he had just vacated.

A stubby finger shot out and pressed the intercom button, the voice of his vice president answered quickly.

"Sir?"

"Did you see the image relay? Was it her?"

The man replied in the affirmative.

"Are you sure?" 

"Allowing for the intervening years, yes."

Dareth Caron sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him, a satisfied smile on his face. Before he had admitted Marcus Cole to his office, security cameras had followed his progress, and that of his companion, through the corridors of his domain. He kept a close eye on his employees and a bank of screens was tucked discretely into his massive desk. He had not been sure at first, setting Chad his closest aide, to double-check his suspicions. His fingers rose to the folds under his chin, softly tracing the horrific scar than ran almost from ear to ear. It had been a long time since he had seen his daughter. 

Shera waited for him at the main doors, a security guard stood close by her side but they seemed on friendly terms. Her laughter rang out as he made his way across the hall.

"Well, my dear," he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and ignoring her obvious surprise, "Mr Caron has been kind enough to offer us a room here for now; isn't that nice of him. So, let's go and pick up our stuff and get settled in."

He had felt her body stiffen at Caron's offer; tension still filled her as they exited the building and headed back to the hired flyer. "What's wrong?"

"Not here," she said softly, her fingers digging painfully into his arm.

They had barely settled into their seats before Shera let fly at him, her verbal attack staggering him for a moment.

"What the hell did you think you were doing? We do not want to be anywhere near Caron's mine."

"I thought…"

She cut him off abruptly, "No, you didn't think. And you should not have even thought about anything so far out of our brief without asking me first!"

He grimaced, if this is how she reacted to something so straightforward, well to his mind at least, how was she going to react to the relationship he had invented. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face.

"What? What else have you done?"

No point in putting off the deed, taking a deep breath he told her what he had led Caron to believe.

"A couple? You and I!" Her face was stormy for a moment, and Marcus waited for the hammer to fall. Suddenly she burst into peals of laughter. It could have been worse, yet he still felt vaguely affronted at her hilarity.

"Oh, Marcus."

"I don't think it's that funny, Shera. "

"I know, I know but..." and she went off into another fit of the giggles. He could not stay mad at her, he liked her too well and soon he was chuckling at her side.

"So, did you get any information or do we take up residence at Chez Caron?"

She sobered quickly, and Marcus saw her fingers tense where they rested in her lap. "The guard you saw me talking to just now, he was one of the team that were sent out to investigate the crash. It happened just the other side of the mine, on the waste area between here and the spaceport. He was surprisingly forthcoming. Maybe too much so. I mentioned we had seen signs of a crash on our way here and he started talking." She bit her lip as she pondered the tale he had spun. "He claimed it had been a flyer from the mining facility that had been caught by a freak storm. They do have pretty violent weather changes here, but that wouldn't account for the passengers inside. Engineers, he told me, on their way to check out a remote site. His story would be believable if we hadn't been told differently."

"Then maybe getting inside the facility wouldn't be such a bad idea. If Caron had something to do with the prisoners disappearance and the wiring done to the flyer then those details must be held somewhere in the building, and probably close to the man himself."

"There are reasons I should not go there, Marcus. In fact, I probably should not have been with you today. His offer of accommodation, do you think he had that in mind all the time? Did he refer to me at all?"

Totally confused, he thought back over the interview. There had seemed a certain purpose to Caron's questioning, and yes the offer had seemed a trifle contrived. He was sure that had he not requested help, the offer would have been made anyway.

"Maybe," he said slowly, turning his searching gaze towards Shera's averted face. "Are you going to tell me?"

Flight control signalled them at that moment and his attention was turned to landing the small craft, giving Shera time to gather her thoughts.

"The man I killed," she hesitated, focusing her attention on her silver ring as she twisted it around her finger, "I believe he was one of the miners from the facility. I never knew his name; all the time he visited us I never once heard mother call him anything but 'sir'." She grimaced at the recollection.

"But you're not sure?"

"Caron's men were all over the portside after it happened. There was no news service, no way to find out who the man was; we just kept our heads down until the fuss blew over. At the time I didn't think it strange, all that effort; after all, I had killed a man; it seemed a pretty big deal to me then. Looking back on it now, well, maybe it was someone high up in the corporation. Those men and women who ran the facility kept very much to themselves, none more so than Dareth Caron himself. A virtual recluse by all reports, no one outside the offices had seen the man for decades."

"You hadn't missed much." Marcus recalled the man's face and form, "no, you definitely didn't miss anything."

She shrugged. "Anyway, there is just a chance someone at the facility might recognise me. It may be nearly fifteen years since I was here, but I hold a strong resemblance to my mother, or so I was told."

He sat back and thought hard about the problem. They needed to get into the mining company's records or computer files somehow. After hearing Shera's story, they could not take up residence as he had intended. The idea had come to him whilst talking to Caron, and he had just flown with the idea, not considering the possible implications. He should have waited until he could confer with Shera. 

"What sort of cover is there in the hills around the mine?"

"Little enough. There are old mining shafts from nearly a century ago, hand-dug can you believe? I don't know how safe they would be but it would be our only option for a base. You are thinking of making a raid of some sort?"

"I think our first task should be to check out the crash site, maybe chat to some of the 'citizens' of this fair city as well."

"Then I suggest we do that first." Shera stood and cocked a knowing eye at him. "Let me show you my home town."

They quickly changed back into more suitable clothing and made their way into the myriad of alleys that surrounded the port. The further away they got, the darker and narrower the passages. Dark doorways hid shady transactions, the quick sale of merchandise, or the discarded body of some poor wretch for whom life was a thing of the past.

Shera moved along as though she was familiar with every nook and cranny. Marcus kept up with her, trying not to look too out of place, matching her stride with his own. His eyes were everywhere, so many places that could conceal an opportunistic thief. It could be his imagination but he had the distinct feeling that eyes followed their progress. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he felt rather than heard someone approaching from behind. He darted into a doorway, leaving Shera to continue. The man was small, weasel like, with a scrawny look about him.

"Hello, sunshine!" Marcus greeted him, as his hand grabbed the man's jacket, lifting him up onto his toes and eliciting a squeak of protest. Shera turned and hurried back as she heard the commotion behind her. 

"Look what I found," Marcus said, shaking the man harder. "Now, what interest can you have in two law abiding tourists like us, hum?"

"Hey, I'm just minding my own business! You have no right to molest me."

Two men walking down from the other direction quickly changed their route on seeing Marcus and Shera bent on eliciting information from their captive. 

He let the man down slightly as Shera slipped her knife from her belt. "Better not move too fast, my friend here is a little trigger happy at times." Tightening his grip until he saw the veins begin to bulge on the weasely man's face he asked again, "What is so interesting about the two of us? Answer nicely now."

Desperate hands scrabbled at the cloth now cinched tightly around his neck and Marcus eased the pressure a little, only for Shera to prick the man's throat with the tip of her blade. "Better answer my friend," she hissed.

"Caron," he muttered. "Caron wanted to know where you were, what you were doing here."

Marcus and Shera shared a glance. "And how were you going to report back to him?"

The man struggled again, his mouth firmly closed even as the point of Shera's knife bit home.

"Search him," Marcus ordered.

As small hands dipped into pockets, patting down the filthy clothing, Marcus' captive wriggled harder, his hands lashing out at the intrusion, his face a mask of terror.

"Well, what do we have here?"

The small ppg fit snugly into her hand. "For me? You shouldn't have."

Diving again into the many secret pockets her next find was of much more interest. An identity card emerged, face and stats agreed with the man held so tightly by Marcus. Shera flashed the card to her companion.

"Well, how interesting." He scanned the data quickly. If you knew how to read the coding there was much detail to be gained without ever swiping the card at all. 

"Not your usual haunt this, is it sunshine? Or can I call you Chad? You don't mind do you Chad? Caron Industries hum, well now, how very intriguing."

"Marcus, I think we had best take this elsewhere."

His quick glance took in the gathering interest they were now acquiring; not everyone in this dump was going to stay a bystander. Holding Chad tightly between them they force-marched him to the port where they still had hire of a small flyer; Shera's knife pressed against his kidney keeping the man quiet for the moment.

They headed out across the barren wasteland that lay between the port and the mine. Here, they could easily see anyone approach, and the flyer was fitted with a rudimentary alarm. They would not be easily disturbed.

"How do you feel about a little torture, Marcus?" Shera's voice bounced pleasantly around the cockpit as though she had just offered a day out for them all.

"Fine by me, shall I hold him down or will you?" His tone matched hers; the banter light-hearted, yet terrifying to Chad who lay trussed on the floor between them.

"Can I go first?" Marcus asked, grabbing the man's little finger. "I'll start at your extremities shall I, then work my way up to the more important parts." The last said with an almost maniacal grin. He bent back the digit until it was almost ready to pop from its joint. Chad screamed in pain.

"Don't make you miners very tough nowadays do they?" Shera lounged back in her seat watching Marcus work.

"So, Chad, do I have your attention yet? Hum?" Marcus' mouth was close to the other man's ear.

"I can't tell you, I … Caron would…" His scream echoed loudly as Marcus popped his little finger out of place.

"I'm sorry, Chad. Did that hurt? How about this one?" Moving on to the next finger he began to repeat the process.

It took three more fingers before Chad was willing to talk, all the while Marcus kept the grin on his face, though his stomach twinged uncomfortably at each vicious act. He would do what had to be done; he didn't have to like it.

Shera had kept out of Marcus' way during the whole process, adding an encouraging word now and then as Chad's resistance began to wane. Now, she took over.

"Why is Caron so interested in us, Chad? What does he think we want?"

Now propped against the flyer's wall, his mangled hands resting in his lap, Chad began his story.

Keeping his eyes averted from her face his first words shocked her to the core.

"Caron has been looking for you for a very long time. You thought you had killed him I think?"

Marcus' gaze flew to her face, now deathly pale, her eyes suddenly wide. Watching as she unconsciously reached for the filigree band on her finger, touching it like a talisman to ward off evil.

"What you may not have known, what I don't think your mother would have told you… Dareth Caron is your father."

"No!" her horrified exclamation whispered into the sudden quiet.

"Caron has been following your progress. He knew when you left Turnis, knew who you went with and where you went. Culden was destroyed I think with his complicity. And he knows that you are now with the Rangers."

Marcus listened to this with horrified attention. That the man had contacts that far and wide did not surprise him, that he had followed the career of the daughter who had done her best to kill him without interference did.

"When the accident happened, I think he knew somehow that you would be sent. He has been," he hesitated for a moment, "anticipating your arrival. The man is a fool."

Marcus caught the edge in the man's voice and leant forward to press home what he was about to say. "What else is going on? Come on, Chad, in for a penny in for a pound as they say. There are lots of appendages I could still play with."

Chad looked at the mangled fingers lying in his lap, checked out Marcus' abruptly unsmiling face and quivered. His tongue licked at suddenly dry lips.

"About two years ago we had a visit from someone purporting to be a 'friend'. The man seemed pleasant enough but there was something about him, he felt tainted somehow. Morden, the guy's name was. He wanted to make use of the land behind the mine, where the old systems were no longer in use. We had long ago shut off the joining passages and Dareth didn't see any harm in it. I don't know what Morden offered him, but Caron never gives anything away."

Shera, her initial shock overcome, had started at Morden's name. Somewhere in the back of her mind that name rang a bell, but she could not tie it down.

"About a year ago Caron came to me with a proposal that scared the life out of me. He said that a new technology had come his way. I didn't know then where it had come from. Believe me, if I had I would have run a mile."

"Shadow technology?" Marcus wanted to drag the whole story out of Chad in one piece, but he had to let the man talk at his own pace, however frustrating.

"Yes. I don't know how it was supposed to work, I don't think Caron did either, but it involved linking a telepath to the circuitry inside a ship."

This much Marcus and Shera already knew, what they needed now was the proof and some kind of data on the experiments that had been performed.

"But Caron didn't have a telepath did he." It was a statement not a question, and Marcus heard the anger in Shera's voice. Casting a warning look her way, he saw her lips tighten then relax as she took his meaning.

"So, he went looking for what he thought was the next best thing, right?"

Chad finally turned and looked at Marcus, shocking him with the horror on his face.

"If I had known, I swear to you I would never… But you don't know Caron, I never had a choice."

You always have a choice, thought Marcus.

"Morden doesn't know that we were trying to back engineer his technology. At least I hope to god he doesn't. We started off in the lab, linking those poor sods up to the machine. It fried their brains in seconds but Caron wouldn't stop. He was obsessed with it. Finally we found two men who survived the ordeal. Maybe they had some telepathic ability missed by the Psi Corps, I don't know, but Caron had them linked into a specially designed flyer and sent them out on a test run. They never came back. The wreckage was spread all over the place." 

"Are there records of this at the mine. Does Caron intend to continue with this?" 

Marcus answered her, "There is only one way to find out for sure, we have to go in there. Sinclair needs to know what is going on, we need to track down this Morden character too."

Shera nodded. "You're right. We need to get as much information as possible."

"The old mines, you said they used to link up with the new facility, is it possible we might be able to still access them?" Marcus sharp tone brought the brooding Chad's eyes up to his. 

"I don't know, really." The man's despair was genuine, caught between Dareth Caron and the two people who held him captive he was about ready to give up.

"The mines it is then." Shera was brisk, ready to move, needing action. He could read her like a book. Knowing Caron was her father she craved the closure his death would bring.

"And our friend here?"

"You decide." Her indifference bothered him as much as her sudden passion for action had.

"Sorry, sunshine. It's going to be a long walk home!"

The sudden scream of engines coming in fast tore through the air. Stranded too far away from the flyer, Marcus and Shera made a dash for the mine's welcoming entrance. Over their heads he heard the whine of gunfire. Shoving Shera to the ground he headed for dirt. The large ship swung over them, landing between them and the mine, effectively cutting off the only means of escape. Marcus gained his feet quickly, Shera up and running by his side, as they tore back toward the flyer. Dust flew up around his feet as a rifle spewed its deadly load inches from him; the next round ripped through his left sleeve. He heard Shera curse and saw her stumble as a bullet tore across her leg. 

"Stand still, or the next one goes through you!"

They complied, turning slowly to see who their opponents were, and how many. Too damn many. Ten men had disembarked from the ship, each held a rifle pointed directly at them. From the nervous looks on the approaching men's faces, he guessed this was a little out of their league, making them all the more dangerous. 

"Wait," Shera's soft tones reached him, her voice a mere whisper. He gave the slightest of nods, acknowledging her command. Standing behind the group was Chad, his face neutral, his damaged fingers splinted and bandaged, hung limp at his sides.

"Bring them along, quickly."

With the business end of a gun shoved in his back Marcus was escorted back to the ship, Shera following slowly behind, blood seeping from her injured leg.

"Let's move, come on, hurry." Chad's insistent tones had them in the flyer and in flight, with the barest of grumbles from the men. Marcus slid along the bench until he and Shera were touching. He kept his voice low, "How bad is it?"

"What are you saying? Don't talk." The hulking guard stood over them, his gun pointed first at one and then the other. Marcus wondered why Caron had not sent his regular security out on this mission; these men were obviously out of their depth.

"I was asking how bad her leg was. Remember, you put a hole in it? She's in a lot of pain, can't you do something to help?"

Enquiring eyes turned to Chad for guidance. "Sir?"

"Well, Chad? I know we didn't exactly hit it off right away, but will you see her bleed to death?"

"Get a bandage or something; painkillers from the med. kit. I'll keep and eye on them."

"Thanks." He eyed his captor for a moment. Was there the faintest hint of distaste on the man's face? "How did they come up with us so fast?" he asked, keeping his voice low even.

The look of distaste, and maybe something deeper flitted across Chad's expressive face. Speaking as though the words were being forced from him, Chad replied in a harsh whisper. "Caron trusted me so much he had me bugged!"

A moan from the woman leaning against him alerted Marcus to the re-appearance of the massive guard and he quickly turned his attention to Shera. He could see now that the wound was pretty much superficial and yet she sat with her eyes closed, a crease of pain etched on her forehead. Changing to Minbari he questioned her solicitously.

"Shera, I don't know what you are playing at, but make them think it's a lot worse than it is, okay?"

Using the same language, Shera's reply was laced with feigned agony. "Right, Marcus, what did you think I was doing!"

He suppressed the grin that threatened his composure, and squeezed her hand in supposed sympathy. 

"Enough!" Chad's brisk tone cut through their by play. Marcus stole a quick look in his direction and thought he saw the merest flicker of understanding on his captor's face. If he had understood then he obviously was not going to voice his suspicions. Was Chad, after all they had done to him, going to end up an ally?

They walked slowly down the long corridor to Caron's office, Shera leaning heavily on him. Where his arm circled her waist he could feel the knife tucked in the small of her back. Chad had hurried them along so quickly that they had still not been searched, and now Marcus was sure that, for whatever reason, Chad was on their side. It only needed to be seen how they could utilise this unexpected bonus. The escort was now down to four men and Chad. Two to one odds that would not be a problem in ordinary circumstances, but they had to get away from here, to get what findings they could back to Sinclair. He had attended a few of Sinclair's classes early on in his training, and one thing had stuck with him, 'If in doubt, wait', and, 'If the odds seem stacked against you, don't try to fight your way out, wait for the opening, seize it when you can. Don't make yourself a martyr'.

So they waited.

Dareth Caron sat in state behind his massive desk, his sunken eyes fixed on Shera's face.

"Chad, stay, the rest of you, go. No, wait, two of you stay outside the door, I'll need you later."

The odds were coming down in their favour, but they were not out of the woods yet. Shera still hung heavily on his arm, her fingers clenched tightly into his sleeve, knuckles white against the dark material.

"So, Shera, my beloved daughter, how lovely to see you again!" Caron's deep chuckle hung in the air. "Were my men a little rough with you, how unfortunate."

"I'll survive."

"Oh, I do hope so, I have so much I want to share with you." Caron's stubby fingers moved almost involuntarily to the scar across his throat. "So much to share," he reiterated softly.

Marcus felt the threat hanging between them. He stepped in.

"That's nice, I like family reunions, don't you? Especially Christmas, love that time of year, all that giving and receiving, getting drunk with Uncle Howard, Santa getting stuck in the chimney. Not that we actually had a chimney on the station but…"

"Enough!" Caron turned his attention to Marcus as he had hoped he would. Giving Shera time to gather herself.

The respite was brief. "Did you know, my dear daughter, that your mother was a latent telepath?"

Shera stiffened at his side as she took in his meaning. Marcus, his own brain working quickly caught his meaning too.

"Ah, I see that Chad shared our little secret with you, how unfortunate; I had wanted that pleasure for myself."

"You wouldn't, your own daughter!" The words exploded from him unguarded.

"Why, Mr Cole, don't you think a father knows best for his child?" Again the deep chuckle reverberated around the room.

"Dareth…"

"Not you too, Chad. You disappoint me. But then you always do. We'll discuss this later you and I. For now I want to explain to my dear child here, exactly what I have in store for her."

"You think no-one knows what you are up to, Caron? Why do you think we are here, hum? We know everything about these experiments of yours. Taking Shadow technology will get you killed; they don't like sharing their toys. And if they don't put you out of business, we will."

"You think so, Cole? And how do you propose to stop me? I have had you followed every hour since you arrived on this planet. I know that you have not reported to anyone here, and that you have made no transmissions off world. Who is going to know, Cole, where you are and what became of you? Another little accident maybe, we have such terrible weather on Turnis. An unfortunate run in with one of our more highly charged electrical storms perhaps?"

Caron turned his attention back to Shera. "I have high hopes for you. Those dregs we took from the penal colony were trash, but you! Your mother was a strong woman and you have my genes too. My father was a telepath, it runs in families. Perhaps you will be my first success."

"I'll kill you for this, Caron. What you are doing here is…"

"Enough, I said! Chad, take them down to the labs. Get McLean to begin preparations. I'll join you shortly."

"Marcus," Shera's tone was confidential, yet laced with suppressed anger that made her shake as his side.

"Patience," he sighed back.

As the two captives were led away the tall figure of a man stepped out of the shadows cast by the half open door to Chad's adjoining office.

"We need to talk, Mr Caron," Morden said with quiet menace.

Chad led the way to a bank of transport tubes, selecting the one furthest from Caron's office. Punching in his code the doors swished open. Two burly security men were stationed inside the cramped enclosure.

"You two wait here," Chad directed the men who currently escorted the captives. The men looked relieved. He indicated for Marcus and Shera to enter, nodded at the two security men and punched the button sending them down toward the labs.

"Long way down," Marcus commented, as the number ticked by on the display.

"The labs are situated near the old mines, a very long way from the surface." Chad's tone was even, controlled and he avoided Marcus' eyes studiously.

His pulse raced a little, the thought of action buzzing through his veins. Beside him, Shera had tensed too. Slowly she moved her weight away from his support, until both her arms were hanging free. Hiding the subtle movements where her cloak wrapped against her body.

The doors opened onto another long, bleak corridor and two new security men. Chad stepped out, Marcus and Shera behind him. Waiting until the doors closed once more he waved them to walk ahead. The security men fell in behind them, Chad bringing up the rear. Marcus' eyes surveyed the corridor quickly. Ahead, tucked into the corner of the ceiling was at least one surveillance device, as he scanned ahead two more caught his eye. At the end of the corridor stood two identical doors at right angles to one another. Without Chad's help they could be running around the damn corridors for days. C'mon, c'mon he thought, over and over.

A light cough from Chad alerted all his senses, it would be soon.

"Now, if you're going to do it do it now!" Chad hadn't got the first words past his lips before Shera and Marcus burst into action. A knife flew with deadly accuracy taking one guard in the throat. The ppg she had taken from Chad blazed as it took out two of the surveillance cameras.

Marcus was having a harder time of it. The second guard, more alert than his companion, got off a shot that singed Marcus' hair before being felled by two feet landing solidly in his chest. The man was down but not out, picking himself up quickly, he ran a tackle into Marcus as he too rose from the floor. Marcus lifted a sharp knee into the man's groin, slamming down on the suddenly unprotected neck, hearing the crack of breaking bones as his assailant crumpled lifeless to the floor.

"This way, hurry." Chad had one of the doors open and was urging them on, panic written on his face. "For god's sake, hurry. This place is alive with security."

Chad's warning came too late. Booted feet thundered down the corridor toward them. Five men, armed, tore into them, Chad headed through the door leaving Shera and Marcus to make their own way. 

As one, they released their pikes, smashing back into the formation that headed toward them. Weapons went flying as the denn'bok smashed hands with savage blows, followed with stunning hits to head and heart. One man got off a shot but it flew wide as Shera took his legs from under him with a sweeping gesture, her pike slamming down into his unprotected face. It had taken them moments to take out the five men and Marcus' blood sang with the energy of battle.

Shera grabbed a rifle from the floor and followed Marcus.

"Where did he go?" Breath came in short gasps as they ran through the still open door. Ahead, two passages offered themselves to the fleeing rangers. 

"Just pick one," Shera shouted as she worked on locking the door behind them. There was nothing in sight to block the entrance; they would have to make the best of the brief respite they currently had.

Trusting to instinct, Marcus took the left-hand passage, running full pelt into the gloom, Shera on his heels. Behind them, they heard the crash of the door being slammed open and picked up speed.

His senses had proved correct, in a matter of minutes they had caught up with Chad, who stumbled along the ill-lit corridor, gasping for breath. 

"Where to, Chad?" Marcus had the man by the arm, holding him upright. The man was grey, his lips turning a terrible blue colour.

"Can't go on," he muttered. "Can't…"

"Chad, help us here. We'll get you out."

The light died behind Chad's eyes as an already weak heart gave up the fight.

"Ah, shit!" Marcus swore. Sounds of pursuit could be heard behind them, grabbing the torch from Chad's belt they ran on, seeking some way out of the maze they were in.

Corridors disappeared into the distance on both side of the corridor. They were unlit, not used except as storage, blind alleys he guessed continuing forward. Gradually, the corridor seemed to narrow, the walls changed from shiny metal to rough rock. They had to be near the old mines.

The pace they had set seemed to have defeated their followers, but neither of them would slow the pace. Suddenly, ahead they faced the walled up end of the tunnel. Set in the centre was a code-operated door, big enough for one person to enter at a time. Marcus looked to Shera for guidance. She had been top of her class on computer skills, not much was safe from her hacking talents when she set her mind to something.

Without a word she handed him the rifle and bent to her task. He took up a position down the tunnel and waited. Even if Caron's men checked every side corridor it would not be long before they caught up with them, and if Shera could not open the door, they had nowhere to run. His fingers tightened against the trigger, they would not go down alone. His one regret would be that they had failed to get the evidence Sinclair needed. Their first mission as rangers and it had to go pear shaped on them.

Voices carried up the tunnel to his position and he readied himself, calling back a warning to Shera. His eyes glanced upward, noting the rocky ceiling for the first time. It would be a desperate move, he could kill them both but…He fired a continuous burst into the compacted rock some twenty metres ahead of him. Hearing the shouts of men heading in his direction, his actions having alerted them to his presence. The roof caved with a satisfying rumble, spraying dust and debris into the air temporarily choking him. It would take them a while to dig through, hopefully he had given Shera enough time to open the lock.

He stood at her shoulder, anxious yet saying nothing, right now she would not appreciated his wit or his comments.

"What the…" A terrible screaming noise reverberated in his head, Shera looked up too. As suddenly as it came it vanished, leaving his head aching slightly. A click and the door swung ajar, turning their attentions to the black hole now open before them.

The tunnels ran further underground than either of them expected. They had left the flyer at the old mine's entrance some five clicks away. Hopefully these passages would link up to the entrance. 

Now that they knew of Caron's involvement with the Shadows, it was vital that they get back to Minbar. They had to get off Turnis with this information, the sooner the better.

"This is one time my lack of inches actually comes in handy," Shera threw back as she strode upright along the small passage. Marcus, some few inches taller, was wondering how long his back would hold up walking constantly bent at the waist.

"I think they could cast me as Quasimodo in the next Christmas panto," he panted. The lack of air was also getting to him.

"Who's Quasimodo?"

"Quasimodo? Small man, big heart, had this lump on his back and a huge crush on the local beauty. Great fellow, a little deaf though."

She grinned at his explanation, even though she did not understand a word he was saying. Just something in his cheerful tone always made her smile.

The tunnel narrowed again, and now Shera too had to bend, soon they were on all fours, the air became almost unbreathable and for the first time they considered giving up. 

A rumble started far in the distance, a warm rush of foetid air washed over them and the earth around them began to tremble. 

"Earthquake?" Marcus asked, his stomach turning uncomfortably.

"Get out of here, quick," came Shera's reply, and both moved forward as fast as the confining walls would allow. The sound grew louder, the mild trembling escalated into full-blown tremors and his heart rate rose to match the pounding in his temples. They were barely upright as a massive rumble started behind them, Shera screamed to Marcus to run, shoving him hard from behind.

With a crash that thundered though him the ceiling directly above Shera collapsed, burying her under a mountain of rubble. Ignoring the danger Marcus turned back, his hands moving rocks and dirt as fast as it continued to fall. Finally he found her, face down though still breathing, her skin ashen.

"Shera?" He leant closer, listening intently for the faintest sound of a breath. Yes, the barest whisper of air! He continued his digging, terrified that he could make matters worse, yet having to remove her from the rocky burial mound that had blossomed above her still body.

Gradually he uncovered her, his blood mixing with the sticky earth, unheeded as his fingers poured gore.

Shera's tiny body reminded him of nothing less than a smashed doll. Arms and legs looked broken from their unnatural angle. Her torso seemed crushed, flattened by the massive rock fall. That she was still breathing was a miracle. He dare not move her that much was obvious. She was going to die here he realised. Anger filled him, at himself for suggesting this in the first place, at the futility of her death. He would have to return with an empty hand, and an empty heart.

The smallest of whimpers reached him, she was returning to consciousness. He moved to her head again, lying down beside her until they were face to face.

"Don't try to move, Shera."

"Can't," she breathed softly. "Marcus?"

He touched her face gently. "Yes?"

"Why doesn't it hurt?" Her voice was confused, shocked. Somewhere in her brain she knew she was badly hurt, knew that she should be in pain. He swallowed hard recognising that her spinal column must be damaged.

"Just lay still, Shera. I'll get you out of this, don't worry."

She drifted into unconsciousness again leaving him to sit in the semi-darkness waiting for the inevitable. He checked the energy level on his torch, another two hours at the most. Another tremor shook the tunnel and he crouched protectively over Shera's crushed body. Just a few more rocks slid down on them, it seemed the worst was over.

"Marcus!" The panicked voice pulled him from his reverie. Conscious again, and this time more alert, Shera was all too aware of her situation.

His hand covered hers, squeezing gently. 

"I can't feel you, Gods, Marcus…"

His hand moved to her cheek, brushing away the tears that streamed from her reddened eyes. She gasped, "Your hands are cold!"

"Sorry," he said, blowing on them before returning his fingers to her cheek.

There seemed nothing he could say. Shera slipped in and out of her coma-like state, sometimes lucid, sometimes seemingly unaware of her situation. Another fifteen minutes and there would no light left; yet he was not going to leave her here to die alone in the dark.

"What are you going to give up for the Na'Fak'Cha?" Her question came out of the blue; he had thought her still unconscious. 

"I don't know. I don't really have anything that means a lot to me. I got off my planet with the clothes I stood up in, or rather what was left of them. I have no material goods, there is nothing for me to give up.'"

Now that she was awake and talking he wanted her to know he was there. He continued, "I always wondered about the ceremony anyway. Who wants to ponder on what has gone before? I live with that every single day, I don't need a ceremony to relive my past."

"That is not the point of the Rebirth Ceremony." Her breath shuddered and his heart beat uncomfortably, but she continued. "I wanted that release. To let go of the past, to start again, that is the whole reason for the Na'Fak'Cha. I would have been reborn, a Ranger." Her voice trailed off again for a few minutes.

"Marcus?"

"I'm here."

"I know it's not the right day but I am not going to make it back to Minbar. I need you to do something for me." Her voice was now the merest whisper.

"Anything," his eyes stung with held back tears, the lump in his throat threatening to stifle what voice he had.

"My ring. It was my mother's. The last thing I had of hers. The meditation pool, drop it in its depths for me."

"I promise." Sensitive fingers stroked her cheek, the only place she had any feeling.

"My secret…" she went silent and he thought she was gone, yet life still fluttered tenaciously in her. "I'm in love with Sinclair." The dry chuckle rattled into a soft sigh, not to be repeated.

Light died in the tunnel as he began the task of re-covering her body. He could not take her back to Minbar, and he could not leave her here to be found by scavengers or worse. Better to bury her now. As he worked in the utter blackness he felt the darkness creep into his soul. Calling on his anger to sustain him he pulled rocks and earth into a huge mound.

He felt he should say something, anything to mark her passing. Nothing. His mind was empty of even the most unoriginal platitude. Turning away from her manmade grave he slowly felt his way back up the tunnel, heading for the surface.

Hours later, or so it seemed, he reached the outside world. Night had fallen, only the faint glow of the two moons lit the barren area. In the distance smoke rose, catching his eye. Where the mining colony had been was now a huge crater. Dust still fell around the site; fires gleamed in patches where buildings had been partially destroyed. Caron Industries had been razed to the ground.

"Bastards. Bloody bastards!" Marcus cursed under his breath, giving in to the rage that consumed him.

"Marcus."

"Entil'Zha," he acknowledged. As he faced Sinclair across the metal desk Marcus realised he did not know how to begin. His report was written, finished, and yet there was so much he had left from it, things that would not interest the Minbari but were pertinent all the same. And he had a personal debt to pay, to explain to this man how he had failed. 

Shera's secret burned in him as he searched the older man's face. And he wondered if it had been such a secret after all. The Anla'shok Na had a disturbing knack of knowing what was going on, even what one was thinking at times.

"I've read your report, Marcus. There seemed little more you could have done." Clear grey eyes caught his green, sympathy and understanding in them. Marcus felt his emotions rise.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault…"

"No. All my Anla'shok are aware of the risks they take every mission they perform. Giving a life to save another is to be honoured. It is the Anla'shok way, to step in where others will not. We stand between the darkness and the light, Marcus. We always will."

"But it needn't have happened!" Cold filled his veins at the stupidity of his actions. Unrecognised at the time, but brilliantly clear with hindsight.

"Marcus…"

"Will you excuse me, Entil'Zha?" He rose quickly, not willing to face his failure in the eyes of this man.

Striding swiftly from the room he almost collided with Sech G'Nath, apologising he began to turn, only to be pulled back by the Sech's insistent tone.

"One hour, Mr Cole. Present yourself to me in one hour." 

Marcus bowed himself away, not even thinking about what might be in store for him, wanting only to be alone to sort out his chaotic thoughts.

The terrible numbness that had surrounded him was beginning to crumble. He knew that to be successful as a ranger he had to keep a tight grip on his emotions. There was no room for sentimentality within the Anla'shok. He had always found it hard, the emotionless creed of the Minbari. He knew they were capable of great feeling and no feeling at all - almost in the same breath. But he was human, for his sins, and he could not control those thoughts that currently waged war within him.

Although he dutifully presented himself to Sech G'Nath, one hour later his mind was still seething.

"Sit, Mr Cole."

The room was quiet, still and calm reflecting the personality of the Minbari seated opposite him. Almost unwillingly Marcus felt himself relaxing, the tension easing out of his tight body. He went to speak but G'Nath held up an admonitory hand. 

"Breathe, Mr Cole."

Marcus did as he was told, imagining each breath as it moved into and out of his body. Feeling a tide of emotion well up inside him, an unstoppable gasp rasped from him.

"The light, Mr Cole. Focus your pain in the light."

The soft Minbari voice helped him to concentrate as he funnelled the ache of her loss into a visible form. Those lessons that seemed to have passed him by time and again now fitted into place as he visualised the column of light issuing from him, taking the hurt and denial with it.

He sat for a long time sunk deep in a meditative state that had always previously eluded him. When finally he opened his eyes Sech G'Nath still sat with him, dark eyes compassionate. The master bowed slightly and he returned it, the words of thanks not uttered, yet he knew that they were known.

***

Cool clear water reflected back his pale face. The black of his hair and beard made his features seem more pallid than usual. He had sworn not to come here again, the pool held too many memories, but it had been Shera's request. He would not let her down again.

Uncurling his hand he was surprised to see the indentation made by her ring. A small circle of red decorated his palm where the silver had pressed into soft flesh. He took one last look at the filigree design then held out his hand letting the small band slip into the pool. Even that gesture made only the barest ripple on the surface, quickly calmed, forgotten. 

"Well, Shera, I have given up something that was special to you as you requested. It was special to me too, the last thing that I had to remind me of a dear friend. I won't forget or forgive myself for your loss. Does that count as a secret? I don't want to think about that now, I just want to get through this day without listening to any more solicitous enquiries." He gazed into the depths one last time. "I miss you."

Hidden, in the furthest corner of the gardens, Marcus sat cross-legged in apparent deep meditation. Feeling the sun's warmth gradually dissipating as the day came to a close he realised the ceremony had only a few minutes to go, then he would be free of the obligation to share his secrets; to bare parts of himself he had no wish to reveal. His focus was not inwardly directed however, and he sensed rather than heard the approaching footsteps and stiffened. A strong hand fell briefly on his shoulder with a reassuring grip. He turned, but was only quick enough to see the swiftly receding form of Entil'Zha striding away. 

He understood Marcus too well.

The end.


End file.
